Before I can ask what he means, he changes the subject. “Want to spar? I could use the practice, and you look like you need to hit something.”
“You really want to take me on?”
He flexes his muscles. “Might as well see if you can hold your own against a Shadowmist wolf.”
“I beat your Alpha.”
He hesitates then shrugs. “Maybe Ryker’s getting old.”
I snort. “I’d like to see you say that to his face.”
The training yard is busy when we arrive, pairs of wolves working through drills while others watch and offer commentary. Conversations slow when Dane and I step onto the sand, curious gazes tracking our movements.
“Friendly match,” Dane announces to the assembled wolves. “First to yield or first blood.”
Great. An audience.
I strip off my shirt, noting how several of the watching wolves assess the scars that mark my torso—silver burns, knife wounds, evidence of a life lived hard. Dane does the same, revealing the lean muscle of someone who’s spent years tracking through difficult terrain.
We circle each other, taking measure. He’s fast, I can tell from the way he moves, but built for endurance rather than power. I have reach and weight advantages, but he’s fast and has stamina.
It’ll be a close match.
“Begin,” someone calls, and Dane strikes.
He’s even faster than I expected, darting in with a quick jab that I barely deflect. His follow-up comes immediately—a low sweep designed to take out my legs. I leap back, countering with a straight right that he slips away from.
The watching wolves murmur approval as we settle into a rhythm of attack and defense. Dane fights smart, using hisspeed to stay out of my reach while landing quick strikes whenever I over-commit. I fight like the nomad I am—aggressive, opportunistic, always looking for the decisive blow.
It’s good. Better than good. For the first time since arriving at Shadowmist, I feel like myself.
Dane feints left, then spins right with a backhand that clips my jaw. I taste blood, grin, and surge forward. My shoulder catches him in the chest, driving him back several steps before he recovers his balance.
“Not bad for an old man,” he pants, grinning.
“Old man?” I circle him slowly, looking for an opening. “I’m thirty-eight.”
“Ancient,” he confirms, then lunges.
We grapple, strength against speed, each trying to gain the decisive advantage. The watching wolves call out encouragement and advice, the atmosphere more like play than serious combat. For a moment, I can almost imagine belonging here.
Then Dane gets a grip on my arm and uses his momentum to throw me hard into the sand. I roll, come up spitting dirt, and nod to grant him the win.
“Yield,” I say, earning approving nods from the spectators.
“Good match,” Dane says, offering me a hand up. “You know your stuff.”
“Occupational hazard.”
We’re cleaning ourselves off when another voice cuts through the ambient noise.
“What a touching display of male bonding.”
I turn to find Levi approaching, his expression carrying the kind of predatory satisfaction that makes my wolf bristle. He’s flanked by two other wolves I don’t recognize, both watching me curiously.
“Levi,” Dane acknowledges coolly. “Enjoying the show?”
Levi’s yellow eyes fix on me. “I was wondering when our guest would demonstrate what he’s capable of.”
